


Red Lion

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Animal Transformation, Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Fanart, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Cullen Rutherford, Search for a Cure, Secrets, Shapeshifting, Spoilers, lycanthropy, now with art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: And so the remaining shamans of Red-Lion Hold prayed fervently to their gods for the power to stand against the darkspawn that threatened to wipe them out to the last man, woman, and child.But they soon realized the boon they had been granted was not at all what they had expected...----------When Inquisition soldiers encounter hostile Avvar warriors in the Frostbacks south of Haven, they bring back the sole survivor to Commander Cullen for judgment. Unable to predict the dire consequences of such an act, they unwittingly subject their commander to a terrible curse.One that leaves the Lion sleepless at night.





	1. Prologue

“ _Take me to him! Take me to your war-chief!_ ”

“Oh, would you just shut _up_ , already!”

Cullen heard the howling long before he saw the man from whose lips the repetitive screams erupted. Brow knitted in concern, he emerged from his tent to see a small contingent of his own soldiers, bloodied and battered, returning to Haven and struggling to control the giant of an Avvar barbarian they held between them as prisoner. He towered over the Fereldan men, and even as his hands were bound together by heavy iron shackles, he seemed to exert more power over them than vice versa.

“ _Where is he?!_ ” the Avvar bellowed, spittle dripping from his lips, the rims of his eyes bright white with madness.

“Right _there!_ ” the soldiers shoved him into the dirt at Cullen’s feet, swords pointed at the barbarian’s back. Cullen took an involuntary step backwards, hand on the hilt of his own blade as he looked down at the now-laughing, obviously crazed Avvar. The entire training area had gone silent behind him, and the man’s roaring had drawn a crowd at the gates. Over half of Haven’s population was already gathered to watch the spectacle unfolding just outside the town’s walls.

“Is this a prisoner from the raiding south of here?” Cullen asked. He assumed so, and that the men must have brought the survivor back to face judgment for his crimes.

“Yes, ser. He’s the last of ‘em. We got the rest.”

“‘ _We got the rest_ ,’” the barbarian sing-songed mockingly as he raised himself on his knees, staring up at Cullen with wild yellow eyes. His filthy russet beard was soaked with saliva and blood, his face caked with dirt, and his patchwork armor of dark leather and furs was covered in a similar detritus.

“Careful, ser, we think he’s a mage,” one of the soldiers warned, at which the Templar lieutenant at Cullen’s elbow stepped forward. The Avvar ignored the Templar, and his eerie gaze roamed over Cullen’s armored form. The commander pressed his lips together as he felt his skin crawl in response.

“So,” the barbarian finally spoke, a little quieter this time. “ _This_ is the one who finally sent us to our doom.”

A moment of silence followed. Cullen shifted his weight with the sound of pebbles scraping dirt under his boot as he finally replied. “Your ‘doom’ was your own creation, Avvar. The-”

“ _Our own creation!_ ”  The barbarian howled to the sky, his face reddening as he strained against the shackles with such force that blood trickled from his wrists in crimson rivulets and stained the snow on the ground. His cries rang against the walls and around the mountains in a spine-tingling echo. “ _Our own creation!_ A lowlander speaks wisdom! The gods truly _are_ dead!”

The soldiers’ blades edged nearer, encircling the man with sharp steel, but he didn’t seem to care or even be aware of their presence anymore. The Avvar snarled at Cullen, his breathing loud and ragged, and then that snarl gradually transformed into a wicked smile as he slowly stumbled to his feet once more. His laugh returned, a low chuckle at first, but then increasing in volume as the man staggered towards Cullen. This time, the commander did not back away even as the barbarian leaned down, so close that he could smell the man’s putrid breath, and he met those fierce yellow eyes with his own.

“I may be the last of my tribe,” the Avvar growled, in a voice only Cullen and the lieutenant could hear. “But I will not be the last of my _kind_ , lowlander dog…”

Cullen shook his head and began to turn away. “Take him-”

He never had the opportunity to finish his order. In the space of a breath, the shackles that bound the barbarian’s hands were torn apart in a spray of iron shards that sent half of the soldiers flying into the dirt, clutching at holes in their bodies. Spectators screamed. Cullen whirled back towards the Avvar, sword already out of its sheath, but was struck suddenly in the face by a whip of blood, crafted from the power of the barbarian’s rage and the wounds upon his wrists. Before he could even react, Cullen felt the whip lash his lips, rushing past his tongue and down his throat, searing his esophagus and knocking him backwards to the ground with the force. The lieutenant and the yet-standing soldiers pounced, slicing the barbarian to ribbons in their revenge. But even as he was cut down, the Avvar just laughed and laughed and laughed, cackling maniacally until his head was severed from his shoulders…

That mad laughter filled Cullen’s ears, louder than the screaming. Louder than the shouts of his soldiers who rushed to his side, desperate to help. Louder than the voices of Cassandra and Leliana, whose horrified faces filled his vision. He shook violently as the blood magic seized him, paralyzed him, rendering him unable to vomit the contents out of his stomach even as he choked and gagged. It set his veins and heart on fire, and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

And then all went black.

[ ](https://auriv1.deviantart.com/art/Red-Lion-703391318)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by me! :)


	2. Chapter 2

“Speak plainly – what has happened?”

“As I said, it is difficult to ascertain with him unconscious like this. The best I can tell, the blood magic performed upon the Commander has, in essence, become a part of him and is now inseparable from his person. It is not doing anything…not right now…but I can sense the magic permeating his body, and I do not believe there is a way it can be purged without significant harm befalling him. I cannot dispel it. Not directly, at least.”

“Not directly?”

“With some exceptions, magical effects of this kind generally end with the death of the creator of such effects. So, naturally, one would assume that there would be no leftover remnants, since the soldiers made quick work of the one who supposedly cursed him. However, the fact that the magic still remains extant within him suggests that the creator of this particular affliction is _not_ dead after all. Whatever happened or is happening to him at this very moment will not dissipate until we find the person ultimately responsible for it.”

“But the Avvar said he was the last of his tribe.”

“He did. But he could be lying. And what if the creator was not of his tribe, but elsewhere?”

“So you’re saying we’re going to have to go on a hunt for whoever made this…whatever it is.”

“‘Curse’ is the best term one can apply, I think, but yes.”

“And this person could be _anywhere_.”

“Unfortunately, you are correct.”

Silence.

The voices he recognized as those of Solas, Cassandra, and Leliana. As he slowly clawed his way out of unconsciousness, Cullen could feel his body lying flat on a cot, likely in Adan’s ward, and his limbs felt heavy, as if weighed down by something. Cool air chilled his damp skin, and he shivered; his torso was bare, but he could still feel his breeches and boots on his legs. His neck ached, and his insides felt as though they were on fire. His very veins burned with every beat of his heart, every pulse throbbing painfully in his skull. But despite these agonizing and unnerving sensations, they served as a reminder that he was alive.

He was _alive_.

Sheer willpower drove him to shrug off the sleep that anchored his eyelids shut; to awaken and fight for his continued survival…

He inhaled deeply and slowly and forced his eyelids open. Sure enough, he was staring at the ceiling of Haven’s makeshift infirmary. Glancing down, he saw that his hands and feet had been shackled and secured to chains in the floor, and alarm coursed through him.

The jangle of the chains immediately garnered the attention of his watchers.

“Commander!” Cassandra exclaimed, rushing for his bedside.

Solas, though, forcefully blocked her way. “No! Stay back!”

The Seeker appeared ready to punch the elf for the act, but Solas ignored her sharp glare, making his way cautiously towards Cullen with eyes squinted and brow furrowed as he met the commander’s gaze.

“You remember your name, yes?”

Cullen’s tongue was dry and swollen, but he answered throatily, “Yes.”

“Say it. The entirety of it.”

“Cullen…Stanton…Rutherford.”

“And who am I?”

“Solas.”

“And these women?”

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Sister Leliana, the Nightingale.”

“Do you remember where you are?”

“Haven. Ferelden.”

“And your purpose for being here?”

Cullen’s teeth clenched. His patience was quickly running out. He knew why Solas was testing him like this, but he was growing tired of the incessant barrage of questions.

“I’m the Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces, sworn to serve the cause to restore order and peace to Thedas, I’ve recently been assaulted with blood magic by some damned barbarian, and I would appreciate it if you would just _tell me what sort of calamity this foul magic has caused me to suffer and get it over with!_ ”

The elf’s brows rose. Cassandra looked both amused and relieved at the same time, and Leliana cracked a grin. “Well,” the spymaster remarked, “that does _sound_ like our dear commander.”

Solas chuckled. “Yes. I’m sorry to say I can’t tell you what this magic is intended to do just yet. There is one more important question I must ask: do you feel any compulsion to act against your will? Anything at all? Please think carefully and answer me honestly.”

Cullen heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, partly to do as asked and partly out of sheer irritation. Solas was attempting to discern whether or not the commander would be a puppet of whoever crafted the curse with which he had been hit. Blood magic, he knew, could function similar to possession – hence the shackles and chains. It made him nauseous.

After a moment, he shook his head. “The only compulsion I feel is to get up, finish my work for the day, and then offer whatever aid I can in tracking down the bastard whose magic is somehow still in me. Before it _does_ do something I can’t control.” The very thoughts of such actions sent a shudder down his spine and made his stomach churn even harder, threatening to send him into dry heaving.

Solas nodded in understanding. “So you overheard our conversation, then.” The elf then gestured to people Cullen couldn’t see. “He’s fine, I do believe. Release him, please.”

Footsteps neared from behind him, and two soldiers came into view as they knelt to unlock the shackles that bound him. One of them couldn’t help but cast him a reassured smile and say, “S’good to have you back, Commander.”

He mirrored the smile with his own. “It’s good to _be_ back, Adam,” he said, hissing as the tight shackles fell away from his wrists with a heavy _clunk_ , and he rubbed them to ease the sting and the redness. “You both are relieved for the evening. Go get some drinks and relax. You’ve earned a break.”

The soldiers shared grins as they moved to release the fetters on Cullen’s ankles. He couldn’t imagine how these two felt, manacling and watching over the man who might have very well ceased to have been their Commander. Standing guard for what could have been hours. It must have been demoralizing. He had to get up and back out there before his men’s morale sank any further.

“Well, I think it is safe to say that, for now, his memories remain intact, and his will remains his own,” Solas remarked as Cullen rose from his position with a groan, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.

“Blessings, both,” Cassandra replied, watching as the soldiers departed the ward.

“Indeed,” Leliana nodded in agreement. “Although, that just makes the question of why the magic is still inside him even more puzzling. Why would it linger if not to control him in some manner?”

“I hesitate to say it, but it may, yet,” Solas replied. “Commander, exactly how do you feel right now?”

Cullen sat still for a moment, taking in another deep and calming breath as he thought about his symptoms. “It…is strange. I’m not tired. It’s actually the opposite. I feel…almost energized. But too much so. Tense and…” he flexed his hands, watching as every muscle in his forearms pulled and twitched at the movement, “and like my insides are on fire. I feel hot and confined, like my body is a prison. My head is pounding, my neck and back are aching…Maker, even my _teeth_ are throbbing.”

“That almost sounds like a fever,” Cassandra observed.

“Yes,” Solas nodded. “But there is no illness to be found. You heard both Adan and myself come to that conclusion earlier. The only thing affecting him now is the blood magic. I’ve never seen a curse work like this before.”

“Perhaps it is meant to imitate illness in order to debilitate,” Leliana remarked, “in which case, he must fight it.”

“Perhaps,” Solas shrugged, “but, in any case, I am afraid there is nothing more that can be done for him other than tracking down the mage responsible for it and hoping it goes away.”

“At least, not until more symptoms arise,” Cassandra added.

“A defiant attitude and a strong will are the weapons needed to battle blood magic, as you no doubt already know,” Solas turned his attention to Cullen. “I advise moving forward with business as usual, as if you are not afflicted by anything at all. But if you begin to feel any other effects, even only slightly, do _not_ hesitate to let me know. We must head off attempts at mind control or any other whim that suits our unknown practitioner.”

“Of course,” Cullen nodded, his gaze traveling to his armor in the corner.

“Come, let us leave him,” Cassandra said, gesturing for the door. “You know where to find us if you need us, Cullen.”

He waited until the door closed behind them, leaving him alone in the ward. And it was then that the memories assaulted him full-force.

Laughter. Mad laughter. A laugh he had heard before from a man – no, _beast_ – even more crazed than the Avvar had been. Blood magic taking hold of him, lashing him, power he had _seen_ before...seen tear and shred and kill. In an instant, he had slipped from the cot and fallen onto his knees, bowed forward with his forehead nearly touching the floor, a cold sweat chilling his skin and shivers wracking his body. His hands trembled even as he lifted them, clasped them above his head, rocking himself in cadence to the Chant that spilled from his lips.

“ _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

 _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What you have created, no one can tear asunder…”_

This verse he repeated, over and over, until the laughter faded away, and the pounding of his heart could no longer be heard beating like a war drum in his ears...until even the fire in his veins seemed to cool, and the energy that filled him subsided…

…all the while oblivious to the forest green eyes watching him through the window.


	3. Chapter 3

Revassan Lavellan was a Dalish elf, a skilled huntress, the esteemed Herald of Andraste and, according to anyone one asked in Haven, the personification of curiosity itself.

In a matter of weeks, the little elf had managed to endear herself to almost everyone in the village just by being Revassan. She possessed an endless fascination with human culture, and, given the opportunity, she would gladly spend an entire evening talking with anyone who had the time and inclination to humor her about that very subject. Being labeled the “Herald of Andraste,” despite her culture, had not bothered her one bit. Though she had expressed her honest uncertainty to the Inner Circle that her newest title was indeed truth, she seemed to think that if it made everyone else feel better, then it was a good thing. She also did not completely rule out the possibility that the Lady had indeed helped her at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and she hinted that she acknowledged the divinity of the Maker in addition to her elvhen gods. Thus, she fostered a likewise fascination with her within those whom she studied with such avid interest.

In addition to her insatiable curiosity, Revassan was also one of the kindest people to grace the Inquisition’s camp. She took time out of her day, whenever possible, to speak with as many of the residents as she could. She memorized everyone’s name and title. She inquired after their well-being and offered to help them with whatever they were doing, no matter how tedious or messy, or even dangerous. No task was too boring or beneath her. And always she did these things with a genuine smile on her delicate face.

It was this desire to help everyone that had her peering into the infirmary window at the Commander, whose plight had worried her nearly to death since hearing of his attack at the Avvar’s bloody hands.

Though Revassan considered almost everyone in Haven her friend to some degree or another, she was particularly fond of the people with whom she worked the most, and Cullen was no exception. She especially liked his drive, his passion regarding the Inquisition, the dedication with which he trained his soldiers, and his wonderfully snarky sense of humor. He exuded confidence and always carried himself with an air of nobility – true nobility, not that pompous display _shem_ aristocrats were trained to wear as a mask from the cradle.

But none of that was visible now. Now, she saw a nearly shattered man kneeling on the floor in a desperate attempt to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.

She turned and ducked away from the window before he saw her and bit her lip. This was bad. And she knew he would likely pretend that it wasn’t, for everyone else’s sake. Her fellow clansmen were the same way. It was maddening.

The arrows in her quiver rattled as she anxiously bounced on the balls of her feet. What to do? What to say? Should she ask him about it? Leave him alone? She wanted him to know that she cared and wanted to help if she could, but what if he got angry at her for prying? She thought she knew how to communicate with him positively; she thought she had learned about him well enough to keep from stepping on his toes, just like she understood everyone else in the camp. But now?

She heard the admonishing voice of her Keeper in her head as if she were standing right next to her.

_He is a person, Revassan, with many layers. Just like everyone else. Not a forest animal you can study once and know forever._

She sighed heavily. She had to admit to herself that she had treated everyone in Haven that way…like an animal that, if she studied it long enough, she could learn its habits and grow comfortable with it. It was how she learned to interact with all of these new and interesting people she had found herself thrown in the midst of and, she hoped, make herself less threatening to them in turn.

But this method would only work to an extent. Superficially. Once she began to dig deeper, past the surface, she would have to adapt.

And it seemed that, with Cullen, things had deepened rather quickly.

She thought a moment. Judging from what she knew of him so far, perhaps he would appreciate an expression of concern. But she sensed that he would not want her to press him too much. Yes, that seemed appropriate. Just a communication of worry and an offer to help, and that would be it…

The door opened, the sound of which caused her to whirl around in surprise. Cullen emerged looking much like he had that morning when he greeted her at the Chantry – well-groomed, spotless, and highly professional. But, there _were_ differences. As a hunter, she had been trained to notice things that were out of place. And in an instant, she could pick out several: his shoulders were not carried as straight; his footsteps were not as sure; the corners of his mouth turned down, his lips paler as they pressed together; and his eyes were…

 _Fenedhis_ …

The eyes she knew before as friendly and warm amber had turned a hard, burnished gold. She was sure of it. She had seen the eyes of many a predator in her young life, and they held a similar cast. Owls and eagles. Wolves and great cats. It caused a chill to ripple down her spine.

“Herald!” he exclaimed, seemingly surprised to see her waiting outside the door for him.

“Commander!” she nodded to him, swallowing her unease and giving him a sincere and, she hoped, reassuring smile. “It’s good to see you up and about again. Are you all right? I hated that I wasn’t near the gates when you were attacked – I would have put a few arrows in that bastard before he cursed you like he did.”

“I…” he hesitated, eyes darting to the side before he continued, “I am as well as I _can_ be, all things considered. Thank you, Herald.”

_At least he didn’t say he was fine._

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all? Message deliveries or-” she halted.

_Don’t push._

He shook his head, just like she expected he would. “No, of course not. I can continue my duties just as well as before… _this_ happened.” He must have realized how short he sounded, because he quickly followed up with, “But, thank you for the offer, Herald. I do appreciate your concern. I will be sure to let you know if there is anything you can help with.”

She nodded her understanding and smiled, dropping the subject then and there, and he quickly brushed past her, heading for the gates with purposeful steps. As she watched him go, she could feel the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. After a moment, she took a deep breath and prayed to the Creators, the Maker, and any god who would listen that the feeling in her gut was wrong…


	4. Chapter 4

He lost himself in his work.

For hours and hours he stared at paperwork – troop movements, intelligence reports, anything to keep his mind off of the unknown curse that lurked like a shadow inside him. He fought back debilitating waves of fear and dread that washed over him as he paced back and forth in his tent all evening, the energy that coiled in his muscles prohibiting him from relaxing enough to sit still. Even though he tried to do as Solas suggested, he couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering, and they always settled on the maleficar’s dark magic seeping into his being like a poison.

He didn’t eat. And when he finally removed his armor to sleep, he found that his eyes refused to stay shut. His heart pounded like a drumbeat in his ears, louder than ever before, and he was unable to ignore its driving rhythm, threatening to stir him into a mad frenzy. He felt his hands curl into fists, the knuckles white with the strength of his anger and frustration.

 _Enough_.

He stormed from the tent with naked sword in hand, marching over to the practice dummies in their stoic line, the snow and dirt crunching underfoot and his breath puffing out misty clouds in the cold. The light of the moon peeked around the mountains and glimmered along the length of the blade as he walked, again wearing only his boots and breeches. Then, with naught but the night watchmen as witnesses, he launched into his usual vigorous training exercises, a drill leftover from his Templar days.

And when he finished, he repeated it. Again. And again. And again.

By the time he could swing the sword no more, sweat trickled down his scalp and matted his hair to his forehead, covering his torso in a silvery sheen in the moonlight. His breath escaped him in ragged gasps, and he dropped to his knees, stabbing the blade into the ground and gripping the crossguard with eyes shut tight.

_Maker, why? Is this my punishment? My penance?_

The lyrium that had been drained from his veins had been replaced by the handiwork of a blood mage, a magic that Leliana and Solas worked in tandem to research, understand and, ultimately, remove from his person. Along with Cassandra, they were the only ones who knew the power that had latched onto him that fateful day wasn’t completely gone from his body. Not even Josephine or the Herald realized that the foul magic still pulsed through him with every beat of his heart.

He felt like a monster. Like the very demons and abominations who killed his friends at Kinloch. Like the beasts he had been trained from young adulthood to hunt down and slay for the good of all. Was this his just reward for his years of dutifully serving Meredith, then? For his actions…and lack thereof?

_Is this justice?_

He took in a deep breath through his nose, and his exhale was accompanied by verses that tumbled from his mouth, almost unbidden, his voice trembling as the memorized lines poured forth.

“ _Through blinding mist, I climb_  
_A sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base_  
 _Endlessly far beneath my feet,_  
 _The Maker is the rock to which I cling._  
  
_I cannot see the path._  
 _Perhaps there is only abyss._  
 _Trembling, I step forward,_  
 _In darkness enveloped.”_

These words of the Chant seemed to soothe him, somewhat, and the fire in his veins once again diminished, his heartbeat reducing in volume and strength. He was left feeling drained, exhausted, and he stumbled to his feet, pulling his sword from the ground and wandering like a drunk man back to his tent. He tossed the blade aside with a clatter and threw himself onto his bedroll before his symptoms could flare up again, and darkness immediately claimed him.

\------------------------------

When he awoke the next morning, everything had changed.

Cullen opened his eyes, the sunlight brightly illuminating the canvas of the tent above his head, signaling that dawn was long past. He fully expected everything from the previous day to come surging back as sleep fell away from him like a warm blanket.

But it didn’t.

He sat up abruptly, his hand going to his chest as his brow furrowed. The burning sensation was gone. His heartbeat was calm. His energy was at a normal level. He felt well-rested, and…

Maker, he felt _good_.

He got up from his bedroll with a spryness he hadn’t experienced in what seemed like ages. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from him. He paced around the tent. His footsteps were light, as if he were half made of air. And…

He blinked. There was no tension in his neck, the residual effect of chronic headaches that plagued him ever since quitting the lyrium. His joints and vertebrae no longer painfully protested the roll of his head or shoulders. He glanced down at his hands. No shaking. Impulsively, he grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill and unstoppered his inkwell, scribbling a few quick words onto the blank page, and his gaze widened as he studied the patterns.

His handwriting never wavered. Not one bit.

_Maker’s breath…_

His withdrawal symptoms were gone too.

He swallowed, backing away from his table and fighting hard to keep a smile of happy disbelief from spreading across his face. He shook his head. Surely this wasn’t over? It _couldn’t_ be over. _Nothing_ was that simple. Especially not with blood magic.

And yet, he couldn’t deny that he felt like a new man.

Readying himself for the day had never gone so quickly. So swift was he in arming and grooming himself that he had to stop and double check his tent to make sure he wasn’t forgetting something important before he emerged to greet the day. Then, once satisfied his trousers were properly laced and that nothing was on backwards, he intended on going straight to Solas and Cassandra with news of his symptoms.

He hadn’t gotten far when he saw the slim form of the Herald headed out of the gates with Bull, Sera, and Vivienne right behind her. She caught sight of him when she glanced towards the training camp, and she immediately split off from her companions, waving at him and jogging to meet up with him, a wide smile on her face that he couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Commander! How are you doing? Well, I hope,” she finally said as she neared. The mid-morning sun shimmered in her pine-green eyes, highlighting the splash of bronze that encircled her pupils.

“Much better than yesterday, Herald, thank you,” he replied as he halted, his hands finding the pommel of his sword and casually resting there. “You’re heading out I see?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her chocolate hair bouncing a bit with the movement. It was cut just above her shoulders, enough to not touch them even in armor, and it swung like a tassel with every turn of her head. She glanced back to where her companions were saddling their horses and added, “Fallow Mire. A report came back from Harding – you missed it sleeping in, but we didn’t want to disturb you. Turns out those missing soldiers are being held captive by Avvar. They won’t let them go unless I make an appearance.” Her soft features pulled into a frown, and she tucked a lock of hair behind her gently-pointed ear. “So…I’m going to make an appearance.”

He hissed. _Damnit_ …

“More Avvar. _Wonderful_ ,” he remarked dryly. Just how much more of their antagonizing would the Inquisition have to endure? Shaking his head, he asked, “Are you sure about this? We could have Leliana’s people-”

“No.” Her full lips pressed together as she looked up at him, “I’m not risking losing those poor soldiers’ lives by staying here. I’ll go see these Avvar. Maybe they’ll even have some answers about what happened to you.”

His brows raised skeptically. “You intend on negotiating?”

She shrugged. “If I can. Maybe turn some enemies into allies. Who knows? Don’t worry, though,” her mouth pulled into a smirk, “I can take care of myself. I won’t let them do to me what they did to you.” She pointed to her bow and winked playfully. “They’ll look like a quillback before they can say ‘Fen’harel’s frilly underpants.’”

In the half-breath of silence that followed, his eyes traced the myriad of scars that crossed her countenance – a long one curving along her right jaw, and several slicing downwards over both brows and onto her cheekbones, like something had tried to claw out her eyes long ago. And between these marks, tracing down her forehead and her miraculously unbroken nose, teasing her bottom lip and curling under her chin, a delicate green tattoo mimicked the shape of an arrow. These elements added a certain ferocity to her somewhat deceptively-innocent face…and he believed her.

“Well then, do not let me keep you. I wish you good luck, Herald, and may Andraste guide you,” he replied with a slight dip of his head, not wanting to delay her from her quest any longer. As much as he enjoyed speaking with her, now was not the time for casual conversation.

She smiled even wider and nodded appreciatively. “You too, Commander. You, too.”

He didn’t watch as she left, feeling it best to find Solas as soon as possible to let him know about his change in condition. No doubt the elf requested to stay behind in Haven so as to keep an eye on him, and Cassandra had likely done the same thing, if he knew her as he thought he did. He would head to the ward, find the first runner available, and summon both the elf and the Seeker to hear his news…

\------------------------------

“This is truly remarkable.”

Solas took a step back from him and shook his head, a slight smile twitching at the corner of the elf’s mouth. “It is nothing like I’ve ever seen. The magic is still there, make no mistake. If anything, it has…engrained itself even deeper.”

Cullen felt his brow knit in confusion, “But why am I feeling so much better if that is the case?”

Solas sighed, gesturing his puzzlement. “I will be frank – I do not know. And that is not a comfort. I suspect you may be acclimating to the presence of magic in your system. But that does not necessarily signal a good thing.”

“Why not?” Cassandra spoke up from where she leaned against the wall of the ward, her arms crossed atop her breastplate.

“Simply put,” Solas replied, “it could be changing the Commander. And not in a positive way.”

“Changing _how_?” Cassandra pressed, needing more of an explanation.

“Again, I do not know,” the elf repeated. “And until more symptoms arise or Leliana procures some obscure information on this particular curse, I _cannot_ know.”

The two warriors simultaneously huffed out breaths of frustration. Solas was quiet for a few moments as he thought, and then added, “We must never lose sight of the fact that the Avvar placed this curse upon you for a reason. He _knew_ it would outlive him. Whatever it is doing, despite the fact that you feel otherwise, could very well be affecting you negatively. In essence, we may be seeing the calm before the proverbial storm.”

Cullen looked down at the toes of his boots, rubbing the back of his neck as he digested what Solas had to say. He remembered the Avvar’s words to him right before he attacked, and he glanced up at Cassandra.

“He told me he was the last of his tribe, but that he wouldn’t be the last of his kind,” he reminded her. “I thought this to mean he wouldn’t be the last Avvar. Which is, of course, true. But what if…”

“What if it means something else entirely,” Cassandra finished, meeting his eyes with her dark ones. “Whatever he was…he has made you, as well.”

Cullen snorted, “But what, then? A mage? A mad barbarian?”

“No, something else,” Solas remarked, cocking his head sideways at the Commander. “Something we do not yet know about him. And perhaps even his whole tribe. I hate to say this, Commander, but you might be in for an unpleasant surprise. Prepare yourself.”


	5. Chapter 5

He should have known it would only get worse, not better as he had hoped.

His first clue should have been when he nearly took the doors off of the Chantry just pushing them open, and shortly after when he sent a recruit sliding twenty feet backwards after demonstrating a proper shield bash. Those rather startling results were not his original intentions whatsoever, and he had apologized profusely in both instances. Their occurrence bothered him greatly, and thoughts about them plagued him all afternoon.

Something had rendered him unaware of his strength. Or had increased it exponentially…

Solas’s warning resounded in his mind again and again, and he steeled himself, despite the fact he felt like he was sliding towards inevitable doom.

_Maker, what is wrong with me?_

Gone was his improved mood from the morning. Instead, it had been replaced with growing dread that pitted itself in his stomach. He feared what this magic was ultimately going to do to him; it was like waiting for the headsman’s axe to fall, or for the platform to open at the gallows. Despite his withdrawal symptoms having retreated, he found himself preoccupied by his new malady and its strange effects instead, and by the late afternoon, he had given up on his work for the day entirely. He knew he shouldn’t…that he should continue to follow Solas’s advice and attempt to shrug it off – to combat it with willpower. But that was rapidly becoming more and more difficult to do.

On top of that, Cullen felt guilty for the distraction this had caused Leliana and her people. She had a good third of her investigative contacts researching Avvar blood magic, which was taking manpower away from far more important efforts elsewhere. Or, so he had argued. But both she and Cassandra had countered that they needed to find out what was affecting him for the good of the entire Inquisition.

It would have been much easier to dismiss him and find someone else to command the Inquisition’s army. But he knew Cassandra would refuse. He could walk away himself, but he had a feeling the Seeker would just drag him back.

_Maker, if I’m going to die from this, why doesn’t it just get on with it?_

Filled to overflowing with exasperation and restlessness, he left his tent as the sun was setting, heading into the snow-filled woods around the frozen lake to spend some time alone.

He wore a loose shirt tucked into equally loose trousers, his customary garb discarded after the restrictiveness of it seemed to make his anxiety worse. Being in the open air, with the soft wind chilling his face, felt much better than being in his tent, and the soft crunch of snow beneath his casual boots was more tolerable than the din of the town. His only weapon was the dirk he wore at his hip; he didn’t plan on going far, just far enough to calm himself and clear his head. When he finally stopped, he found himself at the edge of the grove on the far side of the lake, looking out over the expanse of Haven as twilight fell over the Frostbacks. The lights flickering in the distance were oddly comforting, and as he eased himself down onto a rock to sit, he let out a lengthy sigh.

He was glad that Lavellan was gone for now. He knew she would harass him about his malady…trying to do something to help, of course. She would hate that she couldn’t do anything at all, and her powerlessness would cause her more stress than she already had to endure. He was being burden enough to Leliana, Cassandra, and Solas; he would not be a burden to her, too…

Suddenly, when the sun dipped below the mountains, he felt his pulse become stronger, and his head throbbed. He winced. He _knew_ he should be at the ward with Solas, not out here…

_Laughter…mad laughter…_

It filled his mind, suddenly blocking out all thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head back and forth as if to physically throw it from his brain, but it only grew louder and louder, bouncing off the walls of his skull…

He stumbled to his feet, swaying precariously as he clutched his head, oblivious to the sound of anything but the echo of the Avvar’s laughter in his mind. Pain shot through him like a thousand flaming arrows, setting every nerve on fire and searing as it coursed through every vein. The inside of his eyelids exploded in hues of scarlet, and it felt as if his flesh was being flayed from his bones. He opened his mouth to scream his agony, but no sound came out, and he collapsed to his knees in the snow…

 _I will not be the last of my_ kind _, lowlander dog…_

It was too much…too much…he was dying. He was being consumed. Utterly. It was over…it was…

But his last thoughts were silenced as darkness claimed him.

[ ](https://punwolf.tumblr.com/post/175266348290/goes-with-aurianavaloria-s-fanfic-the-red-lion)

\------------------------------

Cold hardness against his cheek. Snow melting beneath his hands. The sun warming his back.

_Maker…_

Birdsong. The whisper of a breeze in the trees above. The distant barking of war dogs.

His tongue was dry and swollen in his mouth, and he slowly peeled his eyes open, blinking against the bright light.

The forest.

He slowly rose up on his hands and knees and looked around. He was still clothed, but his shirt was muddy, and his breeches were soaked with snowmelt. Through the thick brush, he could see Haven in the distance, the lazy smoke from chimneys spiraling over the town in grey ribbons. A _whoosh_ of breath escaped his lungs.

_Sweet Andraste, I’m alive…_

His symptoms were gone. For now. No laughter. No pain. No shakes or headaches. Just…

Then he _smelled_ it. The acrid stench of something dead. Brow furrowing, he glanced about to find where it was coming from.

And his eyes widened as he beheld its source: not ten paces to his left lay a half-eaten druffalo carcass, felled by some beast in the night. Cold-thickened blood pooled all around it, dark and sticky. And scattered all about the snow, circling the carcass again and again, were pawprints. Giant pawprints.

Maker, had he passed out with a predator this close to-

_Blood…sweet blood…in the air, in his veins…fueling and driving…toughened hide torn by teeth and claws…sustenance for the hunter, the prowler, the seeker of vengeance…_

His breath quickened, his heart pounded, and his mouth dropped open in horror.

_It was me._

He shook his head in denial, but in his heart, he knew. He _knew_.

 _Maker have mercy, it was_ me _._

His whole body trembled like a leaf in a storm. Then, his stomach churned violently and he vomited, unable to stop his body from physically expelling the remnants of last night’s forgotten escapade. He retched until he was empty and then continued to dry heave, his horror overwhelming him.

_No…no, no, no!_

A beast. He had been transformed into a _beast_. A blood-thirsty animal capable of taking down a grown druffalo. This was what the Avvar had been, and whose curse he bore as heir. He had been prepared to fight anything but this. An “unpleasant surprise” indeed – the elf had been more right than he realized.

It had been a miracle that the druffalo was the only thing dead, and not some soldier or scout who had come looking for him. Maker, what if he had _murdered_ someone?

He sat back on his calves and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, struggling to calm himself, to steady himself and gather his courage. He couldn’t risk hurting anyone like this. He _couldn’t_.

He looked up at the blue expanse of the sky, and he knew at once what he needed to do.

\------------------------------

“ _Ser!_ ”

Cullen heard the soldier approaching him from behind as he returned to Haven, striding with purpose towards the main gates.

“Ser! Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over-”

“ _Sleepwalking_. Return to your duties and tell Rylen he is in charge today,” Cullen replied flatly. He honestly didn’t care anymore. There was no point in caring.

“Ah…well…Y-yes, ser.”

He knew Cassandra would be in the Chantry at this hour, reviewing maps and figures, and it was to the Chantry he was headed. He ignored the strange looks that were tossed in his direction and kept going, his posture and demeanor telling everyone who beheld him to keep well away, lest they incur his wrath. Once inside, he found that there were, blessedly, no visitors, and so perhaps there would be no one around to hear what would happen next.

Cassandra glanced up from the map when he finally reached the war room, turning around to see who had entered, and her eyes widened as the door closed behind him with a loud _bang_. “Commander! The men were worried sick…they couldn’t find you, and there was a red lion running all over the woods last night. They dared not approach it without your-” She stopped, noticing the expression on his face.

A red lion. So _that_ was what he had been. He thought of the mantle that he wore…the helm that crowned his head in battle. All a mockery, now.

“It was me, Cassandra.” His voice wavered as he approached her, his legs suddenly weak.

She blinked, and her dark eyes searched his for truth as her mouth dropped open in shock. “ _What?_ ”

“It was _me_!” he bellowed, seizing her by the shoulders with such force she stumbled backwards into the war table. “That beast was _me_! _That’s what he did to me!_ He turned me into a _monster_ , Cassandra!”

“I can’t do this myself,” he added, visibly trembling now. He withdrew the dirk from its sheath and thrust it at her hilt first, his hand sliced by the glimmering blade as he gripped it and blood slowly leaking between his fingers. “End me now. _Do it!_ Before I hurt someone here…before this madman’s curse makes me a murderer!”

In the blink of an eye, she batted the dagger out of his hand with a forceful smack of her gauntleted fingers, and the blade flew across the table, clattering loudly against the far wall. “I will not!” she snarled, this time grasping _him_ by the shoulders and shaking him fiercely, her eyes wide. “Cullen Rutherford, _listen_ to yourself!” Her voice wavered with the alarm and revulsion at what he was begging her to do.

“ _I can’t do this!_ ” he roared, his own voice hoarse and raw with emotion. “I _can’t_! I can’t…I am too weak to fight it, and too _cowardly_ to-”

“Cullen, if you give up now, _he_ wins!” Her grip was painfully tight on his shoulders. “You will let him beat you…you will let him _destroy_ you! You are _stronger_ than that!”

He found that he couldn’t meet her gaze. It bore into him, and he felt weaker and weaker, as though he were dissolving in her hands. “Please,” she said, softer this time, “don’t give up hope. We will fight this – _together_. We will find a way.”

He swallowed, his throat so constricted he could swear he was being strangled by invisible hands. He finally lifted his eyes to hers, only to feel them glaze over with hot tears that blurred his vision.

“Cass…I…”

He collapsed, and she caught him, pulling him close as she eased him down to the floor. Uncontrollable sobs erupted from his throat, wracking him, and she wrapped her arms tight about him, hugging him to her chest. Her breastplate muffled his wailing as she cradled his head and tucked it under her chin, rocking him slowly from side to side. Waves of terror, rage, guilt, and disgust rolled over him again and again, escaping from him in raw cries of anguish that skinned his throat with their force.

“Shhhhh, Cullen. It will be all right,” she murmured soothingly, even though he felt her own tears trickle down his scalp. “I promise you, my friend…I will fix this, if it is the last thing I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Punwolf/Whuffie! :D


	6. Chapter 6

After he had calmed and had returned to his tent to dress himself properly – at Cassandra’s insistence – he found himself kneeling on the ground in prayer once again, reciting the verses of the Chant of Light that gave him the most comfort. It was the only thing that had kept him sane at Kinloch, and it did the same even now. His faith had nearly been shattered when he was nineteen years old, but it stubbornly refused to be extinguished, and it ever after shone through the darkest shadows in his life as the strongest beacon of hope. Cassandra reminded him of it, residing deep within and almost forgotten in his suffering, and today, ten years after it had all but been snuffed out, it gave him the power to continue on in spite of his calamity.

_Maker forgive my weakness…_

He was embarrassed by his behavior in the Chantry, after he had time enough to let his head clear. He had acted pathetically, and he could only wonder what Cassandra thought of him now. Was he a man truly so easily broken? To have survived as long as he had, through as much disaster as he had seen, only to crumble and beg his closest friend to end his life when stricken by a barbarian’s wild curse?

It was nothing but a moment of selfishness – a betrayal to all those who depended on him and a breaking of his oath. He would not allow himself to even think of such again. He may have been an animal in the night, but he was a man now, with his mind blessedly intact. And so long as he was a man, he would be the Commander he had vowed to be before this curse had ever been cast. _Nothing_ would change that.

He stood and straightened his armor, his sword, his hair, and inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together. He _would_ persist. For the sake of their cause, he would not surrender to this foul magic. For the sake of the men and women who put their lives in his hands. For the sake of the Herald who gave him her trust. For the livelihood of all the innocents who needed them. Whatever happened, whatever pain or torment this curse caused, he would find a way to endure. He had been determined to not let this magic inhibit him the moment he had awoken from the assault…why was _now_ any different, now that he knew its true purpose?

_I will find out whoever created this…and I will have their head…_

\------------------------------

“I hear you have quite the tale to tell, Commander.”

Cullen had called Cassandra, Leliana, and Solas all to the war room to discuss what had happened and how to approach his worsening condition. He nodded to the elf in answer and then, once he was certain he had everyone’s attention, he explained what had occurred the previous night to the best of his ability and with an objective attitude, devoid of the emotional display he had wrongfully unleashed upon Cassandra. All the while, Leliana’s expression was unreadable, but the Seeker’s reflected both disgust and compassion, whilst Solas’s lifted brows and widened eyes hinted at true surprise. Once he was finished, the room was filled with a deafening silence that was almost oppressive.

At last, Solas was the first to break it, inclining his head to Cullen. “I feel I must offer my sympathies, Commander. This cannot be easy for you to share, much less endure.”

“I will manage,” he replied simply, exchanging looks with Cassandra. “I must.”

“So, are we dealing with lycanthropy, then?” Leliana asked tentatively. “The Hero of Ferelden encountered a case of it herself, during the Blight. It, too, was started by a curse, and it persisted as long as its creator lived.”

“Which matches our earlier assumptions about the Commander’s affliction,” Cassandra observed.

Solas shook his head. “I am not certain that is precisely what we are dealing with, here. Lycanthropy, from what I know of it, implies some sort of hybridization…a merging of the bodies of man and beast, the form of which is rather permanent and spread through contact with one who is infected. A transmission of disease, I believe. If we are to assume that the Commander was indeed the red lion prowling the forest last night, as you suspect, then neither of those conditions apply, here. He was fully an animal, and the transformation was temporary, caused solely by magic.”

“But if both are caused by curses and both exist so long as the original creator is alive, then that does not change the method by which we must cure it,” the Seeker replied.

“No,” Solas agreed, “but it does change the method by which the Commander must cope with it in the meantime. I may be wrong, but this transformation is reflective of that of practiced shapeshifters. It is an art not many Circle mages are exposed to because of its power…”

“But hedge mages, and by extension, Avvar shamans, _could_ be,” Leliana added, understanding dawning across her face and a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Solas nodded, glancing back and forth between the Nightingale and the Commander, “Yes. And it also may be a beacon of hope for you.”

Cullen’s brows rose. “And how is that?”

The elf pulled his hands behind his back, as he often did when explaining difficult concepts. “If this were a case of mere lycanthropy, you would have already lost your mind. You would have gone feral, concerned with only bestial interests and filled with a rage that could never be sated. But, as is apparent, you have kept your mental faculties, at least in your normal, human state. If your curse is comparable to shapeshifting instead of lycanthropy, then it may very well be possible to train you to keep your memories and your senses as an animal, just as mages may be trained to do the same.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened as she shared looks with Leliana. “Meaning the threat posed to others while Cullen is a lion could be eliminated.”

“ _Theoretically_ ,” Solas inclined his head. “And assuming that this transformation will occur with some regularity.”

Cullen glanced down at the war table, clenching his hands atop the pommel of his sword. “I am all but certain that was _not_ a one-time instance.”

“So am I,” Solas replied, “and so I must request that I be given the opportunity to observe your behavior tonight.”

“Observe?” Cullen’s brows rose as his head snapped up to meet the elf’s gaze. “But what if-?”

Solas chuckled lightly, obviously not concerned. “I can defend myself, Commander. And rest assured that I can do so without harm befalling you or anyone else. I need to see your full transformation and be allowed to witness your behavior while in animal form in order to understand how best to move forward.”

“I agree,” Leliana said, crossing her arms. “Commander, you must let him do this. If Solas can watch you, help you gain some control over your actions, and keep both you and everyone else safe at the same time…”

Cassandra huffed in exasperation as she glanced downwards at the table for a moment, and then back up at him. “They are right. And we cannot let you go through this alone again. There is too much risk. You know this.”

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right. If you think it will help.”

“I am certain that it will,” Solas assured.

“We already know much more than we did before,” Leliana added with another small smile. “I can now refocus my agents’ efforts to something more specific than just generic blood magic practices amongst Avvar. Perhaps red lions in particular are significant here.”

“I agree,” said Cassandra, meeting Cullen’s gaze. “There seems to be something symbolic in it. Especially considering what we know the barbarian said to you before he performed his magic.”

“Then it seems we have our tasks before us,” Solas replied simply. “If you will excuse me, I need to make preparations for tonight. I haven’t much time to spare.” With that, he offered a slight bow to them and departed the war room.

Leliana moved around the table towards the door as well. “I will go send a few messages to my contacts so that we may adjust our focus.” She then put a gloved hand on Cullen’s vambrace and added, “Don’t worry, Commander. We _will_ get to the bottom of this.” The fierce look in the Nightingale’s eyes as she turned away was so intense that he had no choice but to believe her.

Once the others had left, the door clanging closed behind them, there was a long moment of silence. Then, at length, Cullen asked quietly, “What am I going to do about the men, Cassandra? They can’t know about this. If they find out I’m some sort of… _beastly_ abomination, we will have worse than a mere drop in morale. They will abandon the Inquisition in _droves_. If this transformation happens every…” he swallowed hard as he trailed off, and he shook his head. “Maker, if it happens every night, _how_ will I keep it from them?”

She looked away for a long moment, her dark eyes glittering in the light of the sconces, before returning her gaze to him and answering, “I will cover for you. Whatever happens, for however long you need it, I will make sure the troops are not made aware of this.”

He felt his brow furrow at her response, and he pressed, “You will lie to them?” It had been easy enough for him to lie to the soldier following him earlier that morning, when he hadn’t a care whether he lived or died. But he didn’t think the Seeker would find it so straightforward a thing to do.

“If I have to,” she answered without hesitation, her expression flat.

“I…well, thank you.” He was more than a bit taken aback by her willingness to do such a thing. “You must know I wouldn’t normally suggest keeping secrets, but-”

“It is as you say,” she said simply, cutting off any explanation he might have been forming. “We cannot afford for them to lose morale. Or for us to lose numbers.”

“Right,” he sighed, glancing down at the floor. After a moment, he added, “And what of the Herald? I would ask that she also be kept unawares of this…problem.”

At that, Cassandra’s brows knitted together, “Why her too?”

He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck again. “She has enough to deal with without concerning herself with this, and we cannot afford for her to be distracted with me when there are much more important matters to be worried about. We _must_ keep her focused on tasks that advance the Inquisition and keep the people safe.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then the Seeker nodded once more in acquiescence. “Very well, Cullen. I will tell Leliana and Solas both not to bring the matter to the Herald’s attention. I am not sure how long our silence on the matter will be sufficient, however – you know how she is.”

He smirked. Yes, indeed, he knew how she was. Ever the curious and observant one, she would know something was amiss, even if she didn’t know _what_ exactly that was.

Cassandra then made as if to leave, but he stopped her, “And, Seeker?”

“Yes, Cullen?” she turned back.

“I, ah,” he cleared his throat, “I wish to apologize for this morning.”

She looked confused. “Apologize?”

He huffed out a breath. “I was…still too caught up in what happened last night when I came to you. I should have allowed myself some time to think, but instead I foolishly and impulsively charged in here and burdened you with…with the kind of thoughts I did not have a right to foist off on you. I…my behavior was unbecoming. I let myself succumb to a moment of weakness. It will not happen again.”

A pause, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “Your idea of weakness and mine, Commander, are obviously two different things.”

Sighing, she looked away as she added, “I cannot imagine how you must feel. And what you are going through inside. I have no right to judge you or your reactions to what is happening to you. I cannot say that I am not worried about you.” Returning her attention to him, she continued firmly, “I stand by what I told you – I will do whatever I can to end this affliction. And in the meantime, whenever you need me, never be afraid to talk to me. You know where I am.”

She clapped her hand on his shoulder with a slight clack of her gauntleted fingers against his pauldron and gave him a little push. “Go, now. Relieve Rylen. Find some peace in your work and try to forget about your malady for a while, my friend. I will let you know when Solas is ready.”


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen made a heroic effort to do as Cassandra requested, resuming his work reviewing reports and penning orders back at his tent, just as he would have done had he not been afflicted with this strange curse in the first place. Rylen was a bit surprised to hear him change his orders so quickly, but said nothing to the Commander about it, perhaps merely sensing that such a sudden switch was the result of an abrupt change of plans.

How right he would have been.

As he worked, stacking letters and filing away notes, Cullen tried to find the silver lining in his affliction. Or whatever one wanted to call it. Thus far, he had noticed that his stamina had increased substantially along with his strength, enabling him to work for longer periods of time without losing focus, which had turned out to be something of a blessing considering just how much paperwork he had to do. On top of that, he no longer suffered any lyrium withdrawal symptoms, not even his typical headaches, which increased his efficiency by lifting a cloud of pain from his mind and an invisible weight from his shoulders. Though he was grateful for the relief, it bothered him greatly that such relief came from active blood magic in his body, and though he knew he should focus on the positive rather than the negative at the moment, he feared what his ultimate view on this curse would be if he became used to such respite from his previous troubles.

In addition to his these factors, Cullen found that he was also ravenous. With great effort, he managed to wait and take his lunch at the usual time, but when he finally allowed himself to eat, he discovered that he was not completely sated by the food he consumed. His stomach had stopped growling, true, but there was _something_ still nagging at him, deep and almost indescribable. A part of him ached for something he wasn’t getting, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it…

But then he thought of the druffalo carcass and nearly lost his food then and there.

Just as it had the day before, the closer sunset drew, the more anxious he became. On top of that, the more he thought about it, the worse it got. It was good that he had caught up on all of his work early in the afternoon, because once the sky began turning hues of pink and orange, he was once again unable to concentrate. His hands vibrated with nervousness, and his insides felt as if they had been electrified.

Cassandra’s messenger came none too soon. He was summoned to the woods outside Haven again, where the Seeker, Leliana, and Solas awaited him. Ready to get this ordeal over with, he shed himself of his armor and once again donned his casual clothing…the same he had worn the first time he had turned. Then, leaving everything else behind in his tent, he departed Haven to find the others.

He trekked through the snow-filled forest with his head down, eyes only on the white ground as he walked. All the while, thoughts sped through his mind at lightning speed. What did the Avvar have to gain from this? Who was he serving by bestowing his…ability? Power? To another? If the curse survived through him, then _who_ was to gain by it doing so? None of this made any _sense_ …

He sighed forcefully. He would have to leave all that to Leliana and her researchers for now. For the time being, all he needed to concern himself with was how to keep his mind intact and learn to cope with this newfound habit of his. And perhaps, with Solas’s help and the Maker’s blessing, he would.

At last, he reached the spot that the messenger had mentioned, where all three of his comrades stood waiting for him. He noticed that, next to Solas, there was a flat and dry patch of earth, scraped clean of leaves and snow and surrounded by stones upon which had been scribed glowing magical runes. Leliana followed his gaze and gave him a grim smile as she understood what he was thinking.

 _He’s going to put you in a binding circle_. Cullen fought off waves of nausea, memories of being caged at Kinloch briefly flashing across his mind as his pulse quickened. This was going to be anything but pleasant.

“Ah, Commander. I think it is close enough to evening to ready ourselves,” Solas remarked as he greeted him, glancing at the angle of the sun in the sky. “Come and stand within this circle, if you will.”

Cullen nodded and moved towards the bare patch of dirt, shrugging off the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach all the while. “I hope this works…”

“As do we all,” Leliana replied, her expression one of worry. “I sincerely wish you didn’t have to be bound like this.”

He shook his head with a heavy swallow. “Solas is right to do it. We don’t know yet how much of my mind survives during this transformation. I can’t risk hurting anyone, and if this is the only way to proceed safely,” he took a deep breath and flexed his fingers, “so be it.”

“We thought you might like company other than your observer,” Cassandra added, giving him a small smile of encouragement. “At least, before…” she trailed as she seemed to lose the words, but he understood the sentiment.

“Thank you,” he nodded appreciatively, and he hoped the sincerity came across in his tone. It meant the world to him that they did not want him to be by himself again, not only for safety purposes, but also for his emotional well-being. It gave him the courage to face the night again.

“Just let me know when you feel the change coming,” Solas said quietly, keeping his eyes on the setting sun.

It didn’t take long. Just a few more minutes of waiting, and then he felt it. That same prickling of his skin and burning in his veins. His breath quickened, and he felt a sweat begin to bead on his forehead.

“It’s…starting,” he panted out, swaying precariously as he became dizzy and threatened to lose his balance.

Instantly, he was surrounded by an iridescent cyan bubble that trapped him in the empty circle, springing into existence at a mere wave of Solas’s hand. The elf’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on Cullen’s now-trembling form, but the commander himself was barely aware of it at this point. He did not notice both Leliana and Cassandra putting their hands over their mouths, staring at him in horror at what was commencing before their very eyes. All he knew was the echo of laughter that taunted him as, once again, his vision filled with red and his flesh seared with pain…

_Blackness…and then…_

“Commander?”

_Cold earth beneath his feet…strange smells filling his nostrils – dirt and metal and something else…_

“Commander Cullen, can you understand me?”

_Shimmering magic, caging him…faces distorted beyond the thin membrane…_

_Rage. Blind rage. Muscles bunched, claws extended, fangs bared, a roar of fury shook the ground…_

“Maker…”

“Sweet Andraste, have mercy…”

_The cage held him back, but only just, fangs snapping inches from the elf’s face._

_Those faces…those voices…_

Darkness consumed him again.

\------------------------------

Cullen awoke to the sound of morning birdsong filling the air once more. It seemed hardly appropriate, after the chaos of the previous night. He stirred, pulling himself out of sleep and groaning as he bent stiff knees to raise himself from his position on the hard ground. He slowly opened his eyes to see the forcefield still surrounding him in a shimmering bubble.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Solas’s voice came from his left, and he glanced that way to see the elf seated against a boulder, knees pulled up, watching him closely. Then the elf stood, brushing himself off, and waved his hand to dissipate the barrier. Once it dissolved into thin air, he stepped closer and offered a hand to help Cullen up. As he allowed the elf to assist him to his feet, the Commander grunted in discomfort; the cold earth of the Frostbacks was not at all a comfortable place to remain lying face-down for half the night or longer.

“Well,” Cullen said at length, after a few moments of breathing deeply to steady himself, “Did you learn anything from that?”

“A great deal, in all actuality,” Solas replied with a half-smile. “And it seems there is indeed hope for your situation, as you are no doubt eager to hear. Come…let us return to Haven where I can explain it to the Left and Right Hands as well.”

He followed Solas back to the settlement, hoping no one who encountered them would question his bedraggled appearance. Thankfully, the elf led him back the long way around, across the bridge-side edge of the frozen lake, so as to avoid too many spectators. As they approached the gates, Cullen spared a glance to the practice area, and he noticed Rylen and Cassandra had already begun training routines with their soldiers. The Seeker just happened to glance up at about the same time, and as she caught his gaze, she immediately pulled herself away from the throng of troops, leaving a Templar lieutenant in her place.

They were well into the village when she finally caught up to them, and Cullen felt her heavy hand on his shoulder as she leaned close and asked breathlessly, “There you are, Cullen. Are you all right?”

He nodded his reassurance. “As well as I can be, thank you.”

“Good. I will go get Leliana. The war room, yes?”

“Yes.”

With that, she split from them to seek out the Nightingale while Cullen and Solas continued on to the Chantry. As they went, he blinked and shook his head to try and clear it of its fogginess – the leftover vestiges of his transformed mind. He wondered if his lack of memories of his actions during his turnings was something of a blessing, as he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to remember everything he did as a beast.

It didn’t take long for the two Hands to catch up to them, and once the war room door was closed behind them, the two women looked at Solas rather expectantly, eager to hear what the elf had to say.

“So,” Cullen began wearily, running his hand through his mussed hair. “Now that we’re all here…what happened?”

“Let me ask you this, first. How much do you remember?” Solas inquired.

Cullen shook his head again as he tried to sift through the black fog of memories. “Not much. Although, I do think I recollect more than the first time. I remember seeing your faces and hearing your voices, but…”

“Did you understand us at all?”

“Yes, I think so. I heard my name a few times.”

“Ah,” the elf nodded in understanding, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Then I am almost certain that the assumptions I have made from observing you last night are true.”

“And what assumptions are those?” Cassandra pressed.

“That the Commander does indeed recognize us as the lion, at least somewhat. I know that his animalistic nature took over not long after his transformation was complete, as you witnessed, but the fact that he had any space of time at all where he was receptive to the sight and sounds of those familiar to him, and that he has retention of his memories, even if only a little, signals that this nature can be staved off. Perhaps permanently. It will require practice, but I believe it _can_ be achieved.”

“ _Animalistic nature?_ ” Cullen repeated, glancing between those present. “Dare I ask how bad it got?”

“You lunged for Solas and began growling loudly and roaring repeatedly,” Leliana replied quietly. “You seemed angry that you were caged…that you could not get to us. It is apparent you wanted to attack us, with little regard as to who we were.”

“And your behavior did not change until you were thrown a piece of bloody meat from the druffalo carcass,” Solas elaborated. “But then, after you consumed that, you calmed and eventually fell asleep. You remained in such a slumbering state for the rest of the night.”

Cullen swallowed hard, tasting bile in his throat. “Then, if that is the case, it does seem like the primary motivation for this transformation is to draw the blood of the living.”

“Yes,” Solas confirmed, “although it does not seem to matter whether it is human or not, as evidenced by your satiation by the druffalo meat. It is the specific achievement of the hunt, then, that seems to ease the predatory rage that possesses you. However,” the elf added, “I believe we can train _that_ to our advantage as well.”

“You believe he can consciously focus his drive to hunt on something other than the innocent?” Cassandra asked.

“With time, yes,” Solas replied with a nod. “And great effort, I might add. But I am certain it can be done. My theory that this situation is similar to shapeshifting has been proven correct, and thus I am positive the Commander can retrain his mind as a lion and hone his predatory focus to keep both himself and everyone else around him safe…eventually without my aid.”

“Furthermore,” he turned to Cullen and added with a glint in his eye, “I think we can achieve even _greater_ things in the process.”

“How so?” Leliana inquired after a breath, the Nightingale’s curiosity obviously piqued judging by the way she leaned forward over the table.

“This drive to hunt and kill,” Solas began, “It is most certainly an intended effect of the curse, though to what end, we are not entirely certain as of yet. But if we can train Cullen to focus the need to hunt on merely animals to satiate his hunger, or even ignore it entirely, then I believe we can also twist this magic to our own purposes. We wrest control away from the one who crafted it and into our own hands. Deny the curse its aim, and perhaps you could even rid yourself of it entirely,” the elf smiled wryly at the Commander, and Cullen’s brows rose.

“But how long will that take?” Cassandra asked.

“That depends,” Solas answered with a shrug. “Primarily upon the Commander’s strength of will. There is only so much I can do, in other words. Much of this depends on his ability to keep his own mind and control his impulses.”

Cullen shook his head, “I don’t feel like I am in control of _anything_ at this point.”

“Then you must work to remedy that,” Leliana remarked. “Perhaps concentration on something familiar, something you associate with being human, will help.”

“Something to ground you,” Cassandra nodded in agreement. “Think on it, and try to focus on that when you change again tonight.”

Cullen took in a breath. “All right. I will try.”

“Good,” Leliana replied. “And take heart, Commander. We will continue our research while you are struggling with this. We _will_ find a way to defeat this curse, one way or another.”


End file.
